NECESSITY IS THE MOTHERFUCKER OF INVENTION
©1998 A Halo Called Fred
Well, I can dig it to China, my friend. It shouldn't turn out like this
in the end. We'll never speak to each other again if we shut up and dig.
Well I can dig the most grooviest scene, and dig the trippiest fantasy
scene, and dig the shittiest crap that I've seen, so shut up and dig.
I'm digging the truth. I'm digging a lie. I'm digging a girl who's digging
a guy. I'm digging a hole to crawl in and die, so shut up and dig. Hot
diggity dog, hot diggity boom what you do to me, digging the stuff you
could do to get through to me. Brother this digging stuff all seems so
new to me. Dig? I'm digging a duck and digging it well. I'm digging a
tunnel going to Hell. I'm digging the funky way that I smell, so shut
up and dig. Well, I can dig it to China my friend. It shouldn't turn
out like this in the end. We'll never speak to each other again if we
shut up and dig. (LYRICS BY GEVEREND)
MINUET IN F
I think it would be fun if we fucked, don't you? Because fucking is
the kind of thing that's lots of fucking fun to do. But every time I
ask you, you say, "Fuck You! Just fuck off you stupid fuck head.
I've got better fucking things to do." Now What's-Her-Name had intercourse
with General Patton, but who cares, 'cause they were married and they
used a word derived from Latin. Freaky folks and funky folks fuck. So
do ya wanna fuck shit up and fuck my friend or fuck it? What's it fucking
to ya? I think it would be fun if we fucked. No doubt we'd fuck the bullshit,
fuck the fucking with our heads and fuck our fucking brains out. Fuck
infuckingcredibly. Won't say it sucked. Except that's real unfuckinglikely
and I'm absofuckinglutely fucked. (LYRICS BY GEVEREND)
THE KING OF BEAN
I'm the King of Bean. The King of important Bean. The Bean of King.
The Bean of important King. So come with me. Together we'll be the King
of Bean of King and Bean of King of Bean. But prithee tell me Sire, what
makes yonder Bean important? For 'tis the only Bean possessing the glorious
rule of King! But humor me again, Sire, what makes yonder King important
when his subject is naught but Bean? And what King is not important when
so moved to rule justly over his domain? And one day, when the science
of Bean cloning is perfected and the Kingdom of Bean becomes a vast Bean
Empire, none shall live in fear of the dull omnivorous teeth of the oppressive
human classes. Love not my Bean with a passion that equals consumption.
Soak not my Bean in the softening waters of Satan. bake not my Bean in
burritos with spices and cheeses. Eat not my Bean yummy yummy. Grind
not my Bean with the blades of a thousand propellers. Freeze not my Bean
with the cold of a thousand day winter. Brew not my Bean with the heat
of a thousand eruptions. Drink not my Bean yummy yummy. I'm the King.
King Bean. Bean King. Bean Bean. King Come. Me too. King Bean King Bean
King Bean. Bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla important bla. Meow meow meow
meow meow meow meow meow important meow. So come with me. Forever we'll
be the King of Bean of King and Bean of King of Bean. (LYRICS
Here at the nekkid hoedown, gone take off 'r' close 'n' danse aroun'.
Here at the nekkid hoedown, gettin nekkid at nature's hoedown. Gone take
off 'r' close. Gone roll inna mud. Gone stank like pigs in slop. Gone
raise us a fuss. Gone get onna bus. Gettin' off at the nature's hoedown.
Gone let down 'r' hair, gone git up fer air, gone danse 'n' flip 'n'
flop. Hoedown hoedown hoedown. Ev'rybody better flop inna breeze now.
Gone raise us a mess. Gone put on a dress. Take it off at the nature's
hoedown. Here at the nekkid hoedown, gone take off 'r' close 'n' danse
aroun'. Here at the nekkid how-down, gettin nekkid at nature's hoedown.
(LYRICS BY GEVEREND)
His name is Chicken Boy. He is a chicken. He is a boy. It fits. Chicken
Boy. And Chicken Boy, he looks like a Chicken Boy. I know this guy named
Dave who looks just like a Harold. Every time I see him I go, "Hey
Harold! How ya doin'?" And he says, "I'm not Harold. I'm Dave." And
I'm like, "Oh Dave! I'm so sorry! I keep calling you Harold!" I'm
so fucking stupid. I keep calling Dave Harold. But Chicken Boy, he looks
like a Chicken Boy. His name is Chicken Boy. He is a chicken. He is a
boy. It fits. Chicken Boy. (LYRICS BY GEVEREND)
Sleep my darling, close your eye. Satan keeps you warm and dry. Hush
now baby, don't you cry. I'll sing you Satan's lullaby. Satan's lullaby.
(Mommy? Who's the nice man? Is he going to give us presents? Is eternal
damnation like chocolate?) Close your eyes. Don't shed a tear. Satan's
arms are always near. The world is cold and wet outside. The flames of
hell are warm and dry. Satan's lullaby. (Now I lay me down to sleep.
Satan keeps me warm.) (LYRICS BY GEVEREND, BRUSHWOOD
AND JIM BOB)
I'm frightened of the clown nose. It looks like it's getting bigger.
I don't think there's any more room. It's got biceps like Schwarzenegger.
We all fear the clown nose. Soon it will take over. It's red like the
fires of Hell or the hat of Smokey Stover. Its big red shoes will stomp
on your world. You soon will know the clown nose. Its tone will pierce
your soul. Its grip will make sure you're free or fall forever though
the nostril hole. I have become the clown nose. At last I understand.
It talks in tongues. I hear it. Its wish is my command. (LYRICS BY BRUSHWOOD)
I THINK I'LL GO BACK THERE
Don't hate me 'cause I'm beautiful or love me 'cause I'm pitiful. I
don't think for a moment that you do. Don't hate me when I criticize
the quintessential curly fries. You say they match her big brown eyes.
I say they don't -- fuck you. And if you want you can peel my skin off.
I don't want my muscles bare, but I hear they can be beautiful when they
glisten in the air. I never liked you. Never will. But hey, who really
cares. I can still relive the imagery. I think I'll go back there. There's
nothing in my spinal cord, at least that cannot be ignored, or in my
shoes and hair to name a few. You tell me my page filled with verse and
conversations I rehearse are meaningless and getting worse. Well, yeah,
but so are you. You've taken everything that I own now. It may not seem
like much, but I have a rare disease destroying everything I touch. I
never liked you. Never will. But hey, who really cares. I can still relive
the imagery. I think I'll go back there. (LYRICS
You wanna hear about it. You wanna know the latest craze! So I sat around
and I thought about it for days. It's the Hypothetical Twist. In your
mind it goes like this. Suppose you twist your body to the left and the
right. If you think about it you can go all night. You say you don't
have the time to sing and dance and jump and shout and leap. We'll make
it so easy, you can even do it in your sleep. Don't feel left out 'cause
you think that you got no rhythm. Just because you stand like a statue
when the music hits. Inside you're Fred Astaire and Madonna's backup
dancers rolled into one. There's infinity in your toes if you just suppose
and do the Hypothetical Twist. You can't believe it. Nothing could be
so much fun. Well come on join in, it's every dance you've never ever
done. All night. Good night! (LYRICS BY BRUSHWOOD)
Normalize. Everybody, normalize it. Up your nose.
It was the happiest day of my life as I stood there on the podium, about
to graduate from vending machine school. The years of classes were finally
going to pay off. There were the economics classes that taught me how
to make the proper change from money being inserted into me. There were
the contortion classes that taught me how to remain perfectly motionless
for years on end. There were the foreign language classes that taught
me to dispense the right snack when the proper combination of buttons
was pushed. There was a great cafeteria to fatten us up to be as large
as real vending machines, and to top it all off, the school had a great
job placement program. Within moments, society would have gone full circle.
We were going to replace the machines that had replaced us! We had programmed
the machines to genetically improve their programming upon each successive
generation. They eventually replaced the plastic, glass, and metal in
their bodies with flesh and blood. Now they were going to return the
favor. They were going to replace our flesh and blood with plastic glass
and metal, so we too could know the joy of the pure unadulterated profit
of loose jangly change that only a vending machine could know! But when
we got to the transformation room, I could feel something was wrong.
When they wheeled in the new shiny hand-crafted soulless vending machines,
I knew they weren't going to transform us. I suspected they weren't even
going to put our souls in these machines. They were just going to tell
the world that these machines were us. They were really going to kill
us and eat us.
(There's one thing that really disturbs me about that last story. I'm
going back in time back to when I was a kid and saw the movie The Incredible
Shrinking Man. The whole time I'm watching this movie, I'm thinking to
myself: Well he's gotta live! He narrating the whole story in past tense!
This is a story that happened to him, and he is telling us that it happened.
So then the end of the story happens, and he's shrunk away to nothingness,
and I'm thinking: Hey man! He's shrunk away to nothingness! How did he
go back and tell the story? I've been sitting here for the past two hours
suspending my disbelief, just to have it shoved back in my face like
this? So the same thing happens with the vending machine story. Here
are a few possible additions to the end to make it a bit more plausible.
Special Ending #1: The Martyr's Death: I am writing you this note in
my own blood on the back of a candy bar wrapper I made off with in the
ensuing battle. I do not have long to live. None of us do. I only hope
someone in the free world finds this before it's too late. Special Ending
#2: The In-Your-Face-Irony: And that's exactly what they did. Special
Ending #3: The Cheezy Cop-Out: I suddenly woke up on a pool of sweat.
You see, it was all a dream. Special Ending #4: The Cheezy Cop-Out with
a Twist: I suddenly woke up on a pool of sweat. You see, it was all a
dream. Thank god we machines aren't living in the past where humans had
minds of their own. Special Ending #5: The Cheezy Cop-Out with a Twistier
Twist: I suddenly woke up on a pool of sweat. You see, it was all a dream.
Thank god we humans aren't living in the past where machines had minds
of their own. Special Ending #6: The Completely Twist-Free Ending: Fortunately,
they turned us into vending machines after all.) (LYRICS
Joke song joke song. Ha ha ha ha ha ha (so what I don't get it) Deep
song deep song. Hmm hmm hmm think think (so what I don't get it) Sad
song sad song. Boo hoo hoo cry cry (so what I don't care) Happy song
happy song. La la la sing sing. (so what I hate you) Song song song song
(so what I hate songs with no words) Chewy song chewy song. Ippa dippa
blat pthort pthort (so what am I) (LYRICS BY BRUSHWOOD)
A PITIFUL SONG
Hey world, whatcha standing all alone for, when there's munchkins laughing?
You know they're only laughing at your fears of living in the dark. When
you're floating in space, wearing blackness like lace, round the sun
in a race, go and get a job. Hey world, someone should poke you in the
eye and sing a pitiful song. Hey you. What's your finger in your eye
for? Will you shoot yourself? No time, you'll have to shoot everybody
else... La la la la la. Oh you're tender and nice, full of sugar and
spice, running rampant with lice that I'm slipping in. Hey you. You're
only happy 'cause you're paid to sing a pitiful song. And it sounds so
wrong. (LYRICS BY BRUSHWOOD AND GEVEREND)